An Angel With a Soothing Presence
by Someone the First
Summary: Written under the influence of Episode II spoilers. Ani/Padmé. Anakin has a dream of his mom in danger, and Padmé unintentionally comforts him.


**Author's Notes: I'm a spoiler-addict. I admit it! I love spoilers! They are my life, they are what will sustain me until Episode II! What's the point of me admitting this? Well…this little story was written under the influence of spoilers. It's based on a scene that's pretty much confirmed to happen in Episode II, and I loved the idea, so I wrote it. I had to write it. Especially after I saw there were no spoiler-influenced Ani/Padmé fics here last time I checked. In other, much simpler words, if you're staying spoiler-free (you have great self-discipline if so), don't read this. This spoils a very sweet Ani/Padmé scene. At least, it's supposed to, depending on the reliability of big, spoiler-packed sites like ****[www.theforce.net][1]**** and ****[www.aldera.net][2]****. For those who lack that self-discipline or just plain want to spoil the entire movie (me for one), I hope you like this. It's short and hopefully sweet. Please excuse typos and such.**

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**Disclaimer: I don't own Anakin, Padmé, Padmé's family or home, or Anakin's mom Shmi. I don't own Naboo or Tatooine or the plot idea for this story (that's own either by Lucasfilm or an elaborate schemer out to raise the high hopes of Ani/Padmé fans). All I own is…um…*thinks hard*…well…**

An Angel With a Soothing Presence

_ _

The clairvoyant dreams were few, but when they came, they came with force and extreme reliability. Sketchy though they were, they offered faint outlines of what was to come, and usually happened in times of danger.

This was an explanation as to why Anakin Skywalker had just woken from one that morning. This was a time of danger, and his clairvoyant abilities seemed aware of that.

Anakin tenderly pressed at his stomach, checking to see that his ribs were still in place, strange as that may sound, because they felt broken. In fact, every bit of him felt broken even though he still lay on the bed, not the floor. He wondered if someone had beaten him with a club while he slept or something.

His fingers made contact with his stomach and he sucked in his breath sharply as pain shot through him.

"Ow," he informed the dark room, "that hurt like hell."

It offered no reply, leaving him with his churning thoughts and aching body and no escape.

Sitting up and trying to block out the pain that wracked his body, he glanced out the glass balcony door to assess the time. The reds and golds peeking up over the horizon told him it was dawn, and he moaned.

Anakin had hoped to catch up on his sleep during his time on Naboo. This could almost be considered a vacation, although it really wasn't.

He'd been assigned as a bodyguard to Senator Padmé Amidala after there'd been two assassination attempts on her, little time in between them, and so far that job had entitled he stay with her at all times, ride a ship to Naboo, meet the new Queen, and now, visit Padmé's family's home. And sleep. Sleep in a bed in a room with no Obi-Wan over him telling him that he needed to train, not sleep.

Heaven. Anakin almost thought he'd died and gone to heaven.

But, no, this dream came along and reminded him that he wasn't in heaven; he was just in his own little safe part of the world: hell was all around him.

Eyes adjusted to the light now, Anakin hauled himself to his feet with the help of the nightstand, and wobbled, still aching, over to the balcony door. He unlocked it and slid it open, blinking against the pink light and breathing in the fresh, sweet Naboo air, trying not to think about what he'd just seen. Trying not to let himself realize it was "one of those dreams." A dream that told the future, not a dream that involved a certain senator parading, naked, into his room and saying, "Take me now, Ani!"

He groaned as he lowered himself down on the floor of the balcony and crossed his legs in the meditation style. It was as natural to him as breathing now: when you sit on the floor, you sit that way.

A lukewarm breeze ruffled his unkempt air and cooled his burning-from-pain face.

So this was what it felt like to be beaten to death, Anakin mused.

This thought sobered him, and, fight it as he might've, he rifled through the dream he'd just had.

It was as hazy as most of his dreams of the future were, but the pain had been much more real. The pain was usually gone by now if the dream entitled it.

His mother. It had been her, that outline, and he'd known it right from the beginning. He didn't want to believe it, though. Was his mother feeling like this? Aching like this? Broken like this? Was she being beaten? Or was that some cruel idea his mind had thought up? Something his mind used to remind him that hell wasn't gone yet?

A gust blew his Padawan braid up against his face, and, slight as that was, it reminded him that he was a Jedi, after all, and the "Chosen One," for that matter, whatever that meant. He became aware of how his legs were crossed, and, sighing because he hated this part of being a Jedi, he closed his eyes and reached inside himself.

Anakin was horrible at meditation. He and Obi-Wan had tried to work on it for ten years now, and Anakin still hated doing it. He got only so far before something broke inside him and he couldn't find out anything more than he had when he'd started.

Still, he tried. If there was any moment for meditation and thinking, this was it. He loosened his body, focusing on relieving the phantom pain, and slowed his breathing. The cold sweat on him from the dream dried in the wind as he moved more deeply inside himself.

His clairvoyant dreams were always remembered. They never faded. They had a certain formula to them, one that helped Anakin identify them and their reliability: they weren't clear, they felt real, they were always remembered just as they happened, and, somehow, they surged with the Force. Anakin could always feel it, weaving through his very self, strong and prominent, when he had those dreams.

The more reliable dreams always pertained pain of some sort, if it be a broken arm or a broken heart. The more intense the pain, the more reliable the dream.

"And, damn," Anakin muttered ruefully, "I feel like I was just run over by a whole herd of banthas_._"

He sunk inside himself, deeply analyzing, and the further he got, the more uneasy he felt. There was something wrong. Something having to do with his mother and pain. Not a good combination.

His heart thumped strangely against his ribcage. It felt kind of like it did when Padmé was in his range of vision. He'd thought only she could make his heart do that…

What he thought was only five minutes proved to be more like two hours. He was in a trance, something that was supposed to happen because of meditation but never happened to him because he never went far enough.

What jogged him out of this trance, though, was a voice and the sound of movement. "Anakin? You in here?"

He suddenly became aware, again, of the breeze and now, the sun falling over his face. He opened his eyes and saw that it had risen and that now it was around eight in the morning. And that voice and sound of movement was Padmé.

He felt her presence now, coursing through him, and the realization usually would have made his heart speed up. But he was too worried. He felt sick with anxiety for his mother, now that the pain was gone, and wondered, desperately, if that pain would ever leave her like it had him.

He shut his eyes tightly, trying to focus again on his mother; he could see Padmé later, but his mother's pain seemed to contradict that thought about her.

"Ani?"

In his mind, he saw her peek out onto the balcony, saw her see him sitting there. "Um, Ani? Mom has breakfast…"

He didn't reply, but he felt better with her standing there. The anxiety lessened and his heart slowed down. Maybe his mom was okay.

Respecting the fact that he was meditating and obviously didn't want to be disturbed, she turned to leave. "You can eat later if you want."

"Don't go," Anakin said in a weirdly strangled voice. "Please."

Padmé stopped and glanced quizzically back at him.

"Your presence is soothing," he explained softly, eyes still clamped shut.

Pausing, obviously startled a little bit, Padmé watched him silently, considering. He felt her thinking as though her thoughts were solid, but then, suddenly, those thoughts just seemed to vanish and she sat down on the floor, so closely next to him that their legs were touching.

He felt immensely better, and, seeing her clearly with his mind's eye, reached out to take her hand. She permitted it and squeezed his comfortingly, not questioning because she saw he was hurting and respected that.

Her hand felt soft and tiny and fit perfectly into his. She wove her fingers through his much larger ones, and sat quietly next to him, accepting him without question.

He was reminded of all the times he'd woken up in the middle of the night, crying from a horrible nightmare, and his mother had rushed to his bedside and held him until he felt better.

Except his mother was on Tatooine, in danger, in hell, and he was here, on Naboo, in heaven, woken up from another horrible nightmare that wasn't just a dream, with his angel, not his mom, holding his hand and soothing his aching and worrying heart.

**Feedback is something very greatly appreciated by me. May I have some please?**

   [1]: http://www.theforce.net/
   [2]: http://www.aldera.net/



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